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Beca doesn't mean to go home with Luke, she really doesn't.
After he drops that Jesse bomb on her and abandons her to go find his friends, though, the night just becomes something of a shame spiral, buying overpriced beers at this bullshit club, listening to a DJ who is passable at best. She takes to the dance floor because it's something to do. She's not much of a dancer, but at least she doesn't have to worry about getting choreography right. The only choreography here is to keep moving while also not spilling the contents of her Solo cup on herself.
Then suddenly there's a hand on her waist, and she spins, semi-gracefully, about to throw the dregs of her drink in this asshole's face, but it's only Luke. Luke, who seems like an angel to her drunk eyes, coming to save her from the worst night of her year with his cheekbones and tight pants.
"You're much better than this hack," he says.
"I know," she answers, because fuck modesty, really, she is and if Aubrey would realize that and actually let her try, maybe the Bellas would win something. She's so busy being mad she doesn't realize Luke's moving in again until he's already done it, hand back on her waist, then around to the small of her back.
"Wanna dance?"
"We are dancing," she says stupidly, because they are moving together to music.
"Do you wanna go somewhere else?"
"What, like, your place?"
"Yeah, like, my place."
She is drunk enough to want this and sober enough to know this is not the best ever plan. He is kinda-sorta her boss, and what would Jesse say?
Then she thinks about what Chloe or Fat Amy would say if they found out that she'd had the chance to touch The Abs (a collection of coiled muscle so impressive it warrants being capitalized) and didn't.
If Chloe and Amy are even talking to her anymore.
And didn't she come to the Garage to get away from the Bellas and Jesse and get drunk and dance and flirt with Luke and be as non-a cappella as she could be? "Yeah," she says, "sounds good."
So now she's in Luke's dorm, a single in Brattle Hall, which he put in for because it's the closest building to the station, he says, shucking his jacket and dumping it on a chair. "Do you want something to drink?"
"I should probably not have anything more to drink," she says.
Luke takes a step closer, so that he is definitely invading her personal space. "For what it's worth, I know your name is Beca. It's on all of your USB sticks. I just figured you liked being called Becky. Since you never said anything about it."
"Yeah, well," she says, because she doesn't know what else to say. "Um, okay."
And apparently his admission that he is not an idiot and her acceptance of this is a coded exchange which means 'stick your tongue down my mouth right now' because Luke does just that. Her mind flashes to Jesse, going in for the kiss he doesn't know he's going to get, painfully slow and hopeful. Like it meant just as much to him if she said no then if she said yes.
Jesus, why is she thinking of Jesse right now? He shows up everywhere when she needs him least. Beca grabs the hem of Luke's shirt and tugs upwards, because she needs something to distract her brain, and she might be sobering up, so Luke's abs will have to do. (And they do. My God, do they ever do. Damn.)
And this is good, it is, them falling onto his futon and him shirtless. She likes him so, so much better when he isn't talking. Beca realizes, with her tongue in his mouth, that she doesn't really like Luke. This is usually okay, she isn't looking for serious things. And really, she hasn't done this in forever, just gross groping making out with someone in a dimly lit room, wouldn't her dad be proud? Of all the college experiences she's been racking up, she's been surprisingly celibate. Who has the time for hook-ups anyway? Between that school thing, Bellas, the station job, more Bellas, working on her own mixes, and hanging out with Jesse, she doesn't have room to breathe.
Because she dares to think of Jesse for even the slightest fraction of a second, his face floats in her mind. That horrible combination of hurt and disappointment as she shied away from his not-kiss, as she yelled he wasn't her boyfriend and then shunned him for the duration of a forty-minute car ride, and again, today, the saddest yet as she shut him down for the crime of talking near her.
One of the very first things Jesse said to her was that they'd probably end up best friends. And Jesse is actually the best friend she's had in years, post-divorce, at least.
She doesn't realized she's distanced herself from the making out until Luke pulls back and she's jolted to reality by the absence of him. "You all right?" he asks. He sounds genuine, and she feels guilty all over again.
That's the question. Is she all right? Can she summon the all-wrong-ness it'd take to say that she's fine, bone the guy, and go about her merry way? You know, the merry way where she wouldn't be able to look Jesse or Luke in the eye the next day, maybe ever, which would be so uncomfortable she'd probably have to quit. And it's not like she has the Bellas anymore. She doesn't really have anyone. Certainly not Luke, who she's pretty sure was lying when he said he knew her name all along.
"I think I mixed my drinks," she says, although she feels achingly sober at the moment.
Luke actually looks concerned. "How do you feel? Bathroom's that way, if you need to throw up."
She shakes her head. "I think I just need to lie down."
Luke nods seriously at this idea. "Do you want the bed or the futon?"
"Oh, I don't want to put you out," she fumbles lamely. She's not good with graceful exits, really, mostly at just shoving people away, but she has to see him for the rest of the semester and she still wants that Spring Break spot. "I'm just... I'm just gonna go home." She gets to her feet. "Thanks for letting me come out with you tonight. The guy at the Garage sucks."
"Are you sure you're all right to get home?" he says, and she thinks he's worried. Well, she's seen an episode or two of Law & Order: if something troubling happens to her on the way back to Baker, he'll be the number one suspect. Of course, she's not particularly drunk anymore. She attempts to smile at him, but she thinks it comes off as more sickly. Just as well.
"I'm fine, I promise. Don't worry. I'll call my roommate to wait up for me." And with that lie, she backs out of Luke's room. It's the worst exit. She catches her reflection in the glass doors of Brattle and she looks the way she feels: lip gloss slightly smeared, hair askew, clothes vaguely rumpled and manhandled. She dressed for the night to erase any lingering elements of the Bellas, but now she just looks sloppy.
She winds up at Jesse's door. Maybe she's drunker than she realized, because she doesn't remember getting here, just walking and thinking about choreography for no good reason, and now here she is.
She won't apologize to Aubrey, who doesn't deserve it, but there was no real reason for her to bring Jesse into this stupid civil war, and if she doesn't apologize now, she'll lose her nerve. This is not really her forte.
Beca finger-combs out her hair, wipes off her lips as best she can, and knocks. It's Benji who answers. "Hey, Beca." He doesn't look thrilled to see her, and she has vague recollections of including him in her spectacular hissy fit at the semi-finals. Her heart sinks, both at the absence of Jesse and the lackluster reception. But really, what was she expecting?
"Benji. Hey. Is, um, is Jesse..?" Beca can't finish the sentence.
"He's out with the Trebles. You know, celebrating. They're going to Lincoln Center." Shit. She didn't stick around for the Treble performance. She doesn't even know what they sang.
"Are the Bellas..."
Benji shakes his head. "First place Trebles, second place Footnotes. You guys got third."
Beca feels a rush of... something. Pride, sorta, for doing that well, for trying and being semi-successful. Still... "I don't think I'm one of those guys anymore." She's actually a little rueful. How did those ridiculous girls in their ridiculous outfits with their ridiculous choreography get into her head like this?
Benji says nothing to this, although he looks sad. What could he say, really? The two of them are not close. The only person she's really close to at this school is Jesse.
"Okay," she says, aware of how small her voice is. "Um, tell him I came by, would you?"
Benji nods. "Okay. He up, probably won't be back until late."
"Yeah. Okay. I'm gonna go." She takes three steps down the hall, then reverses course, nearly stumbling in her haste to get to the door. "Benji--"
But the door is already shut. She thinks about knocking again, but what's the point? She needs to go home. She needs to go home, count this day as a wash, and spend all of tomorrow working on music for her spring break slot. This is the first step in her career, this is huge, and she shouldn't be wasting any more of her time thinking about boys or Bellas. She can't afford to be distracted.
It's that resolve that gets her home. Kimmy Jin is already asleep; Beca doesn't even bother getting undressed before she flops into bed, unsatisfied in so many ways. For a moment, Luke's abs flash before her eyes and she solidly regrets not spending another few minutes at the least becoming acquainted with his everything.
And then she sees Jesse's sad face, the consternation that his features molded into every time she said anything to Luke at all. She doesn't know why she thinks of that.
She thinks of Fat Amy's worry. She thinks of Chloe's concern. She thinks about how she hasn't gotten any texts since this afternoon.
And then she falls asleep and doesn't think of anything at all. It's better that way.